


Copacetic

by grayorca15, YearwalktheWorld



Series: Skynet: 900 [12]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Platonic Relationships, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 11:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18467962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca15/pseuds/grayorca15, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: Wings AU. When compartmentalization works best.





	Copacetic

**Author's Note:**

> 5000+ words of banter.
> 
> #whocares

These training sessions weren’t so much mandatory as they were routine. Granted, only so many in the department worked with investigative models of android, and Gavin Reed held the dubious honor of being the only man to (yet) be partnered to an RK900. Most days it was a tolerable enough arrangement. Noah wasn’t the uptight, snooty valedictorian type, contrary to his look. He was more like the quizzical, semi-socially-inept nerd who could somehow kick ass and correctly recite each element of the periodic table in the same simulated breath.

Thankfully, if it crossed his hyperthreaded processor, he skipped the latter with today’s demonstration.

Bad enough to get your rear end served by him. In front of an audience of some dozen tank-top-and-shorts wearing DPD, the (supposedly glitchy) RK900 managed to swoop around, tackle, disarm, and pin Reed to the mat in under a minute.

The referee actually laughed as she yelled “time” and declared the air-to-ground exercise over. A few reciprocating chuckles went up, as well as a polite round of applause.

_And that, kids, is why it’s a good thing this machine is on our side of the law._

Even if today’s duties included humiliation-per-official-orders, at least Noah wasn’t one to gloat, either. He moved off from crouching over his former opponent to offer Gavin a hand up.

How chivalrous.

“One-to-three, that round is still yours, Detective.”

Three wins out of a possible four - only because wings made for some ungainly distractions when it came to fighting one-on-one.

Or Noah just went easy on him. It was hard to tell which was more likely.

“Yeah? And you're tellin’ me you decided to pull that out just now?” Taking the offered hand with a scoff, Gavin heaved himself up and away from his partner. If the android could pin him that easy, how the hell had he won those other rounds any other way? It didn't sit well with him. “I ain't gonna fuckin’ break. Don't throw it.”

…Okay, there was a possibility that something _could_ break, if he and Noah ever actually fought. But, hey, Gavin had dealt with worse, right?

At any rate, Noah didn’t look keen to continue the debate then and there, in front of their colleagues. Another likable quality was his knowing when to shut up and agree. It hadn’t taken him weeks to hone that. Lookalike Connor, on the other hand, never seemed to like being completely wrong. And if he was, look out. Justice never slept, and neither did he.

(Said idea of justice included suffering the derogatory nicknames Reed had derived as a result. Old Canner was just about as idealistically insufferable as they came.)

Forced to wait on the sidelines as they were by the next bout of sparring matches, Noah’s protests amounted to a huffy-sounding _tch_ and beginning to fitfully comb his hair back into place. Sometimes, restlessness got the better of him. In the jazzed-up atmosphere of the gym, even he wasn’t immune to the need to fidget.

That done, he turned his attention to relacing his shoes. Minus the penguin suit, he would have looked perfectly natural, sitting on a bench in police-issue leisure wear. He couldn’t hang up the wings so easily.

“I kept track. You still landed more hits in those three bouts than when last we battled. And I didn’t alter my combat routines to any significant degree today, either.”

Fancy speak for, forget the added extra of audience, this was the same dance as last time?

“Whoa, whoa. If that was the same, then of fuckin’ course I got more hits - I just, like, had an idea of what your shit was gonna be,” Gavin argued. Maybe it wasn't worth getting worked up over, but the sameness of it - it put him on edge. That's how he would get even more caught off guard if anything ever did happen. “Don't do that, N, c'mon. No one's gonna fight the same fight twice on the streets.”

At that the android paused, fingers poised to tug the knot closed over his shoe. “So I’m either making it too easy, too predictable, or both? Should I modify the routine next time, make it more - difficult?”

Christ, he could be just as painfully naïve as Connor, besides.

Fights were supposed to be difficult. It was part of why struggle was a first cousin synonym.

“Yes, that's what I'm sayin’, Noah. Next time, beat the fuck out of me if you can.” Rolling his eyes, Gavin shook his head as he said it. Hopefully Noah wouldn't take the last part extremely literally - he still wanted to be able to walk away from the mat. “Seriously, just - don't go easy, okay? I can handle it. Probably.”

That earned him a trademarked look of skepticism, but Noah followed it up with a one-armed shrug, cinched the lace, then began working on the opposite foot. “If you say so, Detective.”

——-

Back from patrol, Tina Chen could always be counted on for a honest post-game summation.

“Is that a new shiner, Gav, or did you sleep with one eye open last night?”

“That the best you got?” Countering it with his own question, Gavin couldn't stop his hand from wandering up to the injury, wincing as he prodded it. It probably wasn't the best idea to keep the sparring going, even when it was extremely clear he would be the loser. But pride had to go and hijack things. “Yeah, T. Dunno if you noticed, but I happen to be fuckin’ hurting a bit.”

“Aw, poor baby.” Undermining her own words with a tolerating smile, hand on her hip, Chen glanced past him, over the desk divider. The particular absence of a certain white-winged android sitting next door spoke for itself. “I won’t insult you by asking how it happened, then. Can I get you an icepack from the fridge?”

“Ugh… fine. Only because I don't want to get up.” To almost anyone else, Gavin would have simply glared and told them he could get his own damn icepack, but it was Tina. Instead he sighed again, waving his hand to feign disinterest.

Seconds after she was gone, he got another interruption in the form of a messagebox popping up on his computer. A fresh email from circuit court had landed, going by the profile icon.

_From: ADA Darryl Ford_

_To: Det. Gavin Reed_

_Subject: Indictment Failed (bad news first)_

Fuck. Gavin didn't even wanna click on it, thumb pressing hard against his bruise for a moment to stop himself from just sitting and staring. Bad news first? What kind of good fucking news could possibly follow that?

The urge to step outside and take his smoke break came over him, to just get away and try not to get too pissed off.

Instead, because Noah’s company was turning him (back) into a good fucking detective, Gavin clicked on the email, already dreading what it would say. Even if he just glanced over the details, he was sure none of them were what he wanted to hear.

By the end of reading it, he locked the screen and decided a smoke break was very much warranted. A slightly-bemused Tina returned with the icepack wrapped in a cloth, which he accepted with only a growl of thanks before stalking back toward the front door.

The dark, quiet parking garage was sounding very appealing all of a sudden.

——-

Preening was a meticulous, time-consuming chore. The conventional wisdom held true that doing so socially cut those sessions in half. Having one or two extra sets of hands working while your own saw to a partner’s meant every stray barb would soon be found, oiled, and realigned.

On the other hand, doing so alone had its benefits. Even if flexibility was hindered, one could ensure there were no missed patches. There was no worrying over another’s plumage, whether or not it was being swept right. It also meant not having to suffer the chance of unexpectedly having a feather pulled, the same way a knot in the hair would snag in a brush.

Or these were the excuses Noah told himself, morosely spinning an unintentionally-plucked quill between his fingertips.

The specimen itself was clean and whole. Pretty sure he wouldn’t have yanked it out by mistake if he hadn’t needed to stretch so far over his own shoulder.

But then, he had endured worse. Besides one full wing break (and impalement upon rebar), one near-fracture plus a furrow-scored cheek plate (hidden nowadays only by a tweaked false skin projection) both topped the private indignity of plucking one stray feather.

In any case, the moment he glanced down and noticed Detective Reed’s empty chair, taking note of just how many seconds ago the terminal had been locked (and what information the formerly-open window contained), he set it aside to climb back out onto a landing ledge. Said vantage points afforded a decent view of the street below, and a corner of the department’s overall Central Complex. For a bright, springtime afternoon, there was a decent amount of foot traffic meandering about.

Rapid scanning every discernible profile, he spotted the hoodie-sporting figure stalking toward the station garage at a fast pace. Even at this distance, the swaggering gait was unmistakable.

Immediately the thought to rush after him crossed the android’s processor. Closely following that was the suggestion he try a text message first.

No need to drop in and scatter the crowd just yet. Gavin wouldn’t appreciate any more theatrics than were necessary.

——-

Beep.

Already fumbling in his jacket pockets for his lighter (icepack set aside on a nearby ledge), Gavin let out an aggravated grumble when his phone went off, clenching his fist to stop himself from lashing out with frustration.

Best to see what that was, that nothing fucking earth-shattering was happening. His luck, it would be an update on the weather to follow.

Pulling his phone out instead, the other hand still holding an unlit cigarette, Gavin let out a scoff at the name that popped up with a new message, but clicked on it anyways. If the android had anything to say, he would at least look at it.

_Is something wrong, Detective?_

Out of context, it was so daft, it was laughable. They were police. Something was always wrong and needed fixing, or else they would be out of a job.

If Noah was asking, he also already knew that there was something up with him, so why ask? Instead of answering, Gavin jammed the phone back into a pocket, successfully locating his old steel lighter in the process.

Huh. Guess it at least helped him with that, even if other shit was messed up now. Leaning back against one of the concrete pillars, he took a moment to try and let some unwanted anger go, to just take his smoke break uninterrupted.

Ten seconds later, that dream took another hit.

Beep.

Fucking android - Gavin would think he just didn't know how to take the hint, if it weren't for the fact of him knowing Noah already. Pulling it out once more, teeth clenched with irritation, he clicked on the name, sweeping it aside without thinking to read whatever it was.

Just more banal, falsely-uninformed queries. Again, why ask when you already knew?

Beep. Beepbeep.

Beep.

…Beep.

“Fuckin’ stop!” Even if no one would hear him, Gavin couldn't help but hiss it out, shoving his phone back into his pocket before he could give in and throw it on the ground. If Noah wanted to be a pest, fine - he could ignore him, or at least try to.

Intentionally or not, the hint seemed to be taken.

Up until the heavy _flap_ of wings on approach, growing louder as the flyer made to land, echoed through the garage’s cavernous expanse. From outside, a few startled cries went up as other foot traffic hastened to get out of the way.

Of course. It turned out Birdman’s robot cousin was watching all along.

Fuck. Might as well light up while he could. Maybe Noah would even let him get through half of it, before shaming him into putting it out. One hand covering the lighter, Gavin let out a sideways sigh after it caught, letting him take a puff of it.

Turning around to face the android he knew was coming, the policeman shrugged as Noah swooped down into view.

It may as well have been its own nonverbal text back: _What?_

Arms out for balance, the android promptly folded them in (apparent) disapproval once he was on his feet. “ _This_ is what was so urgent? After the email you received?”

Snoop. Of course he already knew what news Ford had used to color the day all kinds of disappointing.

“So? I'm not allowed to take my smoke break?” Scowling at him for another moment, Gavin raised his free hand with exasperation. Could he not take five minutes for himself? Evidently the only way he could involved enduring a mini-inquisition first. “It's not like I'm about to fuckin’ drive off, Noah. Lemme take a minute to - think shit through. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Tempting as it probably was to harry him yet again about his worst vice, short of coffee, Noah only gave a disdainful wing flick. By the way he leaned back on his heels, he was evidently content to wait.

And stare in a most awkward, prodding fashion - as birds tended to do. Why CyberLife thought incorporating that same hyperfixation into its RK series was anyone’s guess.

“Dude. I get your little staring, intimidation thing is fun, but you gotta fuckin’ use your words, okay? I don't know what you're tryin’ to say when you just fuckin’ look at me.”

Blinking a very deliberate blink, seemingly waking himself up from that process, Noah scowled. His spinning LED slowed to a near stop. “What exactly did you need to think through? I know the Alvarez matter wasn’t the most streamlined investigation, but the grand jury failing to indict doesn’t mean other charges can’t be brought to the table.”

“Okay, okay, yeah, we can discuss this _later._ ” So what if there were other ways? They could come up with them later. He wasn't exactly feeling up to it now, still feeling sore from practice and now made angry by the contents of the email. It wasn't a combination Gavin particularly felt like struggling through for the millionth time in his life. “Seriously, can I not take a minute?”

“You’ve had that. Do you need another?”

“God-fuckin’-dammit, you know what? Yeah, sure. I'm gonna need a few more fuckin’ minutes, let me actually finish my break, okay?” It was called a smoke break for a reason, not just stepping away from your screen for a moment to take a breather. If Noah had come here just to rile him up in person, he was doing it fantastically. “Stop it. You're not helpin’, I don't care if I'm acting like a brat. Just give me my _fuckin’_ break.”

With another owlish blink, the android glanced back out at the sunny compound beyond the parking spaces. The normal pedestrian rhythm had resumed. Pigeons had started congregating along the perimeter security fence of the impound.

Looking at them, Noah was probably reminded all too easily of what happened last time he didn’t give Reed some breathing room.

“Well. I’m sorry about your eye, then.”

“Eh. Don't fuckin’ sweat that, didn't I say to beat the fuck out of me?” As if reminding him of its continued existence, his eye throbbed with a brief flash of pain, making him wince. “Sure, you didn't have to go for my fuckin’ face, but you know… what yah gonna do.”

Gavin couldn't expect Noah to keep up with whatever new childhood trauma of his was deciding to rear its head from the slightest little correlation, a black eye of all things.

“You said to not make it too easy, actually,” Noah pointed out, pedantic as ever. But he did have the grace to keep looking contrite, even if he didn’t appreciate the full scope of what had come from this. “I meant to elbow your sphenoid. …Your head, not your eye socket.”

“Right. I said don't sweat it, which also means, stop talkin’ about it, okay? It'll heal, who cares.” The sooner Gavin could get one moment of peace from Noah, the sooner he could try and start functioning like an actual fucking adult again and get back to work.

With his apology so flatly dismissed, Noah put on the scowl again. “Are you always so gracious about accepting others’ concern, or just not around me?”

“What the hell do you want me to say? Thanks for not fuckin’ smashin’ my skull to a pulp, Noah. That good enough for you? What else do you want?” Getting into an argument wouldn't do either of them any good, but the longer the conversation continued, the more Gavin could hear himself snapping at the android. It was another reason why he wanted to take his break, and get this meeting done with before it progressed any further.

Too bad the RK900 simply didn’t know when to leave better off alone. His education was still continuing.

Seething just a touch, venting a sharp exhale of annoyance, Noah abruptly turned around, leaning back against the same concrete pillar already claimed by his malcontent partner. Just to sell the posture, he crossed one ankle over the other, arms still folded. “Very well. I’ll simply be quiet and wait. Enjoy your cigarette.”

Now that was fucking irritating, even if there was no reason for it to be so much. Why couldn't Noah just walk himself back into the stationhouse, give him a moment of peace to himself? “Dude. Please, just go. I don't need a chaperone. I don't wanna deal with this shit right now.”

“But why not now? The sooner you deal with it, the sooner you may relax.”

Oh, right. Because hooray for initiative. Naturally an android’s point of view when it came to enduring a setback gravitate toward ‘work harder, again’.

“Because I want a break, that I'm _allowed_ to take. Just give me a moment to fuckin’ - decompress, get the shit outta my head.” Even as he said the words, Gavin resigned himself to the fact he probably wasn't going to get what he wanted, at least not until his shift was over and he could go back home.

Alone.

Even Colby knew better than to knead for attention when his ‘master’ was in such a funk.

Eyes narrowed, Noah leaned back all the more firmly, regardless of how it pressed his wings. “No one’s saying you’re not allowed it, Detective. I only thought you’d like to know our disappointment in the failed indictment is mutual.”

“That's fuckin’ fantastic, Noah, I'm very grateful to hear that we both feel like shit over it. We can mourn about it together in five minutes, okay? Not right now.”

Rather than voice his disappointment in said rejection, Noah’s focus drifted.

“Your cigarette is almost down to the filter, by the way. You might - want to consider another.”

“Fuckin’ - great.” Pulling back from his non-existent cigarette, Gavin felt the urge to throw it to the ground and grind it under his heel, except for the fact that Noah would probably go on a rant about how he's littering, also known as killing what little environment they have left. Which was true, so - fuck. Guess he wouldn't. “Nah, I said smoke break, huh? You that fuckin’ eager to get back to work, might as well take that while you’re at it.”

It was wrong to be taking his frustrations out on the android this way, but Gavin couldn't help but feel pissed off with how his break turned out - arguing with Noah whether he should be left alone or not. And now it was technically over.

Technically.

Fuck that noise regarding an improving work ethic. Not like it was a very accelerated process. It wouldn’t be the first time he had glommed a few extra minutes.

Expert timekeeping device that he was, Noah said absolutely nothing as the spent cigarette filter was dropped and a second was lit up. Perhaps he was busy scanning the composition of the smoke, calculating Reed’s odds of developing lung cancer before sixty. Funny way of showing concern, that.

“I suppose I misspoke. I’m not so eager to get back to work, Detective. I just wanted to ascertain that you were… all right.”

“Peachy. Is that all?” Gavin hissed out, before immediately regretting it. This was the exact type of behavior that led to him and Noah having their fights, and here he was, doing it again. All because the android dared to check up on him. He was one of the few people in the world who would ever think to. “...Okay, sorry. I'll be fine. Just - as always, I'm feelin’ shitty about some fuckin’ memory.”

Noah could relate to that, admitting it out loud or not. As a general rule, they hadn’t discussed his autopilot episode, or the circumstances that triggered it, since. Humans and androids weren’t so different in how they behaved when faced with unpleasant memories.

And the pair of them had more than most either of their kind typically could claim to.

“Another case gone bad?”

A deep drag on the cigarette tamped down the urge to glower and snap. “Yeah, sure. It's just really fuckin’ frustrating that we worked actually fuckin’ hard on that, and it fails.” The same thing that they had been saying to each other in the past couple minutes, but it was true, right? It sucked. Feeling so frustrated, and even a bit hopeless, just brought Gavin right back to all the other times he felt that. Along with his new injuries, it didn't take long for comparisons to set it. “And - it's not your fuckin’ fault, N, but the whole black eye thing with this shit's got me twisted.”

There wasn’t a better word for it. And maybe the idea of being so wound up in oneself wasn’t easy for a plastimetal android to grasp. But Noah understood where an RK900 fresh out of the box might not. A sum of experiences piled up over time. Not everything could be so easily deleted from a memory drive.

Particularly when it was made of gray matter.

Figure that one out yet, science?

“May I ask what about it, precisely?” Defaulting to curiosity, Noah backstepped over that question in the next breath. “Even if the racketeering charge is defunct, there’s still the narcotics. Alvarez knows enough people in the same market. If he were immunized and convinced to talk… I’m sorry. I’m only trying to think of ways we might salvage all the effort put in.”

“You're fuckin’ good at it, so if that's what you think we should do, we will.” At this point, Gavin had little to no ideas about just how they should salvage the mess of a case. If Noah had his own ideas, they would follow his lead on them. “And as far as me goes, it’s nothin’. Just childhood shit again, you know.”

Conflicting as it was to say, it was doubly conflicting for his partner. Stories regarding said childhood were few and far between. And that was mostly on account of Noah being respectful enough to not ask.

But so long as it was only the two of them there, what would one more abridged telling hurt?

The second cigarette was already one-quarter burnt up.

Arms still folded, Noah didn’t take that as his cue to stand up and leave. Instead, he bent down to pick up the discarded filter, obviously intent on disposing it where garbage belonged. “I don’t. And that’s part of my difficulty in understanding, Detective. We have, what might be called, a significant age gap working against us.”

“Pfft. That's for fuckin’ sure. Not many people get partnered with a fuckin’ infant, I'll give you that much.” Noah didn't have much of any childhood to compare with, that was true. And what little he did was shaping up to be a similar kind of scarring experience that Gavin's own was. “...Fine. I can give you the story for some shitty context, I guess.”

Managing to look apologetic, Noah’s focus shifted to the spent filter between his fingers. Any disgust at the sight or feel of it didn’t show. Experimentally, he tried at holding it between his index and middle digits, then stood back up.

“And don’t you _dare_ put that in your mouth.”

“I wasn’t intending to. It’s not a pertinent clue.”

“Not a pertinent fuckin’ clue, yeah? I ain't dumb, Noah. I swear I ever see you messin’ around with one, I'll kick your ass.” As empty as the threat was, Gavin made it anyways. Noah didn't need to learn any more bad habits from him. “Okay, so, the fuckin’ story… I told you I was pretty awful in school, right? Always lookin’ for attention, even if it was from fightin’.”

“Contrary to how it is today?” Muzzling the sardonic tone as soon as it escaped, Noah frowned, brows furrowing. “I mean, you did seem to be showboating at the gym, just a little.”

“Asshole. Old habits die hard, I guess. If it worked then, it's bound to work now.” Scoffing at his own logic, Gavin shrugged again. Then he tried to relaunch the story. “Or some shit like that, so yeah, I probably was. But, yeah, so I fought a lot in school. Which didn't exactly ingratiate me to any of my classmates. One day, it was around the end of the school day, there was this whole big group of them. I don't remember if I did somethin’ to them, or they just decided time had come to fuck me up, but I couldn't exactly hold my own against all of them. A couple, maybe, but not a group.

“Kids are a lot more vicious than people fuckin’ give them credit for, too. They threw a jacket over my head, just to even the odds. After beatin’ the snot out of me, they took my stuff, which I can't say was a lot, but it's still _my_ shit. So just more fuckin’ humiliation to go with that. I think I musta just not been able to get up, maybe I even passed out or somethin’, but mostly all I remember afterwards was bein’ found by a teacher, taken to a hospital, and of course there was a lot of fuckin’ talking and everythin’ about what happened, they had to check me all out for injuries or whatever. Black eye was really what I remembered, which was same as today. I dunno, you know, I know I was awful but I was just a kid, still. Afterwards, not that much time passed - shit, mighta even been the next day, the foster family I was stayin’ with got rid of me.”

Age gap or not, Noah could understand how that felt, even if it wasn’t quite the same parallels. His whole appointment to the DPD was probationary. The failure to integrate with his fellow RKs - that wasn’t so different from not getting along with classmates taking issue with some needy bastard orphan continually needing to vent his outrage to the world.

No android needed to emulate that any more than it needed to learn how to smoke.

“That’s it? They didn’t even… give you time to recuperate?”

Breathing out a plume of smoke, Reed scoffed. “Nah. I mean, I was a fuckin’ problem child, Noah. I didn't start that fight, but there was still a reason why it happened. I ain't sayin’ I… deserved it. I guess, maybe partially. But, yeah, I wanted some fuckin’ attention afterwards, and I got it.” As embarrassing as it sounded for him, it was true. He hadn't exactly been expecting to be foisted back into the system so soon after. “Maybe that was worse, I dunno. Yeah, being beat up hurt, but bein’ passed along so soon afterwards… it's just that same feelin’ of frustration and you can't do shit about it.”

And as history was wont to do, similar circumstances had arisen today. No, Noah hadn’t been beating him up with the intention of theft and payback in mind. No, the district attorney couldn’t have known he was sending that disheartening email after such an incident.

But here they were.

“I think… I see what you mean,” Noah admitted, LED spinning yellow for the past few minutes, fingers giving a restless twitch before he reigned the reaction in. “Androids go through similar quality assurance checks. If we no longer measure up to the standards of our given job, we’re - reassigned. It’s not the same thing as foster care, I know, but it’s the closest process we know to it. For what it’s worth, Detective, you’re the one to steer our cases. I only advise.”

There it was again. Selling himself short to try and redress the imbalance - couldn’t they just get by with being equals?

“Argh, Noah. Fuck that, why can't we just - be fuckin’ equal, or some shit?” Hand going back up, cigarette half dissolved, Gavin felt a different type of exasperation at having to try and explain it. There was no reason why they couldn't at least attempt something toward that, right? “Steer the goddamn case, or don't. And if you aren’t, don’t because you don't wanna, not because you think I gotta be in charge.”

Misguided as that mentality was, like so many other topics, Noah just needed to be told. He would figure the rest out on his own terms.

Minus the smoking and the bad attitude, hopefully.

“There are appearances to maintain, though,” Noah protested, or the programming puppeting his likeness tried to say. “You have more experience. I’m inherently inclined to defer to your judgment.”

Nice. And where was this ‘vassal’ twenty years ago would Gavin could have most used an ally?

“Yeah, yeah, shut the hell up. That ain't gonna be happenin’ - look where experience got me, right? Who gives a shit about appearances?” Definitely not Gavin, for sure. But if Noah was so put off by the idea of them being equals, until further notice, he could pretend to be in charge - for his sake.

Because good partners did those kinds of things.

That included pestering them when they thought they were better left alone.

Looking again at the old cigarette stub, the ashes smearing his fingers, Noah seemed to reconsider. There were more than a few old filters already littering the ground about the garage. To add insult to injury, there was a waist-high trash can standing just inside the entrance.

Where they presently stood, it was at least fifteen feet away.

Running the calculations, the android crushed and wadded up the filter, tossing it into the can from afar with pinpoint precision.

(Denton Carter, eat your heart out.)

“Understood, Detective.”

Showoff.

But at least he saved Reed the trouble.

“Yeah?” Stepping up so there was less distance between them, Gavin let out a smoky huff, before reaching up and patting Noah's cheek, exactly like he had only one other time, after the android agreed to stop moping. Positive reinforcement was better than none at all, and so long as he felt like this had been helpful, he would settle down. “Good, then. Lemme finish this in peace.”

The cigarette was three-fourths gone.

This time, though, he didn’t especially mind.


End file.
